


So Heal Me

by Cunninglinguist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha Harry Potter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Biting, Bodily Fluids, Community: hd_erised, Declarations Of Love, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, H/D Erised 2018, Hand & Finger Kink, Healer Draco Malfoy, Injury, Knotting, M/M, Mating, Omega Draco Malfoy, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Tropes, Werewolf Bites, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-08-27 05:37:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16696453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cunninglinguist/pseuds/Cunninglinguist
Summary: Draco Malfoy, Head Healer of the St. Mungo's Potions Department and resident expert in all things werewolf, is surprised to learn that his next patient is none other than Harry Potter, who was bitten by a wolf during an Auror mission. Between Potter's ability to heal quickly and Draco's extensive experience, it looks like Potter will be out of St. Mungo's in no time, but when certain aspects of werewolf biology surface, feelings that were supposed to stay hidden are revealed, and plans (and professionalism) are thrown to the wind.





	So Heal Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMightyFlynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyFlynn/gifts).



> Ta da! TheMightyFlynn, your prompts and interests overwhelmed me with joy. I had such a good time fitting as many tropes and as much fluffy, creature-bonding goodness in here as possible, & I hope I managed to do your wish list some justice. I also hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Happy Drarrydays! <3
> 
> Thank you so much to A for the beta read, and much thanks to the wonderful Erised mods for putting so much time and care into this amazing fest (and for dealing with me, of course). You're the best!

The potion in Draco Malfoy’s cauldron had just turned the perfect shade of blue when the door to his office burst open with such force that he startled, nearly dropping the entire evening’s work onto the hardwood floor. 

"Healer Malfoy," panted the plum-faced intern. Draco recognized him as part of the most recent crop from Hogwarts—was it Nickelsby? Nicholson? He’d really have to pay more attention to their names. "You’re needed on the first floor. Come quickly."

Draco glanced at the clock—nearly midnight. Suppressing a sigh, he set his cauldron aside--it could use a few hours to breathe off the heat, anyway. He allowed his deeply ingrained Healer’s instincts to kick in as he pulled on his lime green outer robes and followed the disheveled intern into the corridor.

"I expect you’ll be filling me in any moment now," said Draco sharply as they marched down the windy staircase that led from his third floor office and down to the Dai Llewellyn ward. As Head Healer of the St. Mungo’s Potions Department (with a specialization in healing practises for those afflicted by werewolf-related ailments, largely those living with wolfish symptoms, thank you very much, but that was a story for another dinner party), Draco was used to being summoned at all hours of the night. However, he happened to know perfectly well that Healer Abbott was on duty, and that anything requiring his direct attention had to involve a subject of his expertise.

"Right. Sorry, Healer Malfoy, sir." The intern—Nickelsby, yes, definitely Nickelsby—flushed even brighter. "It’s a fairly high profile case, sir—a wolf bite, and a bad one, by the looks of it. Patient was rushed in about ten minutes ago having an absolute fit."

Draco’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. There hadn’t been a werewolf attack in years, what with all the work Shacklebolt had done and continued to do to repair wizard/werewolf relations. From repealing anti-wolf legislation across the United Kingdom, to organizing that bloody Wolves and Wizards Summit that had dominated the news cycles almost continuously for the past year, all evidence of a new attack was truly disconcerting. 

Then again, times of great change were also often times of great agitation, specifically when it came to marginalized groups. Perhaps a more feral clan was feeling less than thrilled about the legislative efforts. 

"How long ago was he bitten? Where is the bite located?" asked Draco, pushing open the doors to the prep room. 

"Er, they can’t say when they bite occurred, sir, but it’s located on his shoulder. It’s...quite messy, sir, he’s lost quite a bit of blood. And, well, there _is_ just one more thing…" Nickelsby looked greatly pained. 

Draco raised an eyebrow. "And that is?"

The fidgety young boy swallowed audibly. "The patient is H-Harry Potter, sir."

Draco stopped short. "Harry Potter?" 

The ruddy-faced boy nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir. And judging by his robes, he was on a mission with the Aurors."

"Oh, hell." Though this would hardly be the first time that he had seen Potter since their years at Hogwarts due to their many professional entanglements, tangential as they might be, and though one could say that things between them were civil—even cordial, or perhaps even a bit more than cordial—he was not looking forward to adding "Healer/patient" to the multitude of dynamics they had in their colored history. "Who brought him in? I can’t imagine he came here alone."

"No, sir. He was accompanied by an Auror...Weasley, I believe. He’s in the waiting room."

With a flourish, Draco summoned some rather drastic pain potions, essence of dittany, and a Wolfsbane potion that was of his own creation and distillation. The little blue bottles clacked together in his pockets. "Alright. Now, where are my gloves, Nickelsby?" 

A pair of lime green latex gloves were thrust in his face. "Here, sir."

"Brilliant. Now, why don’t you go speak to Auror Weasley and find out as much as you can about this attack for me." An inhuman scream issued from the double doors leading into the operating theatre. Nickelsby gasped and jumped; Draco shivered. He was, regrettably, well-acquainted with the pain that Potter was experiencing in the wake of a vicious werewolf bite. 

"That will be all, Nickelsby." Bracing himself, he rolled on his gloves and strode through the doors. 

****************

Based on his current state, one would never know that Harry sodding Potter had had been violently thrashing about, spit flying and limbs flailing as a team of experienced Healers held him down as Draco attempted to sedate him before beginning a rigorous round of secondary potions and charm work mere hours ago. It had been a taxing, noisy affair, rendering Draco breathless and in need of his own potions for mild scratches sustained to his forearms and cheek. For the first time in years, he was more than slightly shaken on the job—not that he’d ever admit it.

Now, Draco stared openly at his former nemesis as he slept soundly, waving his wand absently as it monitored his heart rate, which had not changed in several minutes. Potter’s face was open, peaceful. Nearly free of wrinkles, save a handful of fine telltale lines about the corners of his eyes. Were it not for those—and the smattering of salt and pepper strands in his short beard and in the hair just around his ears—he could easily be mistaken for a new Hogwarts graduate. A smirk tugged at Draco’s lips as memories of Quidditch matches in crisp fall air followed by meals in the Great Hall stretched across his mind. The smirk faded as flashes of sixth year darkened his mind’s eye, full of anxiety, guilt, terror, and pain...and the bite that had led to his change, that had altered the course of his life. At the time, he’d thought he might die, but that seemed so silly now, knowing all that he knew. He let out a sigh. It seemed like a lifetime ago, yet not that long ago at all. 

He furrowed his brow as he regarded Potter’s heavily bandaged shoulder. It was a vicious wound, and Potter had lost a lot of blood. He would need extensive cycles of topical dittany, as well as even more blood replenishers when he awoke. Which should be any minute now, come to think of it. 

Draco found himself utterly dreading it.

Due to the direct correlation between his work and research and the ongoing werewolf relations efforts, Draco was a frequent visitor at the Ministry of Magic. Potter, of course, worked as Head Auror, which guaranteed many maddeningly mundane run-ins and subsequent interactions in Draco’s life. 

Initially, Draco had gone to great lengths to avoid him, but it became impossible. Eventually, the awkward, stony silence between them had melted into curt civility, and Draco could (and would) argue that Potter had been making many mortifyingly overt friendly gestures recently. Not that he’d been unresponsive—he’d provided Potter with an audience for his jokes, and all the "funny stories" that he had gathered from various benign Auror affairs. To express disinterest would be rude, after all, and Draco certainly couldn't afford any sort of strain on his professional relationships. The two had even giggled like schoolboys on the Hogwarts Express when one of the newest Auror trainees had turned up in Potter’s office, distressed and hexed to high heavens with a bout of incessant, flailing tap dancing. They'd had the decency to restrain themselves until he'd gone, of course, but only just. Draco couldn't recall the last time he'd laughed so hard.

During Draco's last trip to the Ministry, Potter had asked him if he’d like to meet up after work for a cuppa, or a pint. As if it would be the most normal thing in the world. Taken aback, Draco had, of course, politely declined, citing the need to finish working on his newest Wolfsbane suppressant formula before his night shift. Potter had looked genuinely disappointed at that, though it had been a perfectly acceptable excuse (if not entirely truthful). Thinking about that crestfallen look on the face of the Saviour of the Wizarding World made Draco feel quite hot and itchy under his collar, though he couldn’t figure out why. 

It was bloody maddening.

Even _more_ bloody maddening was the tiny little voice in the back of Draco’s mind, demanding to know why Draco hadn’t accepted the invitation. Now that their rivalry at Hogwarts and the Second War were years behind them, would it have been so bad? Change had always been a bitter pill for Draco to swallow, but at this point, after all that he’d endured, what did he have to lose? 

"Malfoy?"

Draco startled, nearly dropping his wand. Potter was blinking up at him, eyes bleary behind his round spectacles. "What’s...what’s happened? Where am I?"

Quickly regaining composure, Draco pressed his lips together in a tight smile. It was likely that Potter didn’t remember much of what had happened to him. "You’re in St. Mungo’s, Potter. You’ve been bitten by a werewolf, but don’t worry—you’re going to be fine."

Potter let out a pained groan and fumbled about for the glass on his bedside table. Draco stood by, his stiff, public-facing half-smile plastered to his face as Potter gulped the water down like a dying man in the desert before slamming the empty glass onto the table with a smack of his lips. He squinted up at Draco, clearly neither liking nor believing what he had just heard. "I got bit by...a werewolf?" 

"I know it sounds a bit odd, but yes, a werewolf. How do you feel?"

Potter groaned again and clutched at his bandaged shoulder. "Alive."

"Now’s not the time to put on a brave face. How’s the pain? Be honest."

"Okay, then. Honesty. It hurts like...like fuck, you wouldn’t believe."

 _You might be surprised._ Draco maintained his cool exterior as he measured a dose of dittany-laced pain potion and handed it to Potter. "Take this. The pain should subside. I’ll do another round of healing charms when I change your bandage, and you’ll need to stay here for a few days while you heal, so you can be monitored in a safe environment. I’ve started you on a preemptive course of hormonal suppressants, which should diminish the impact of wolfish characteristics."

"What do you mean, ‘wolfish characteristics?’ Like, an affinity for rare steak?" Potter tipped his head back and shot the potion like Firewhisky. "That’s what happened to Bill when he got attacked by Fenrir Greyback. Look, I already feel better—I’m ready to return to the case, see? Where’s Payton? Where’s Kingsley? Where’s Ron?"

Draco swallowed thickly and shook off the pang of anxiety at hearing the name of his own werewolf attacker slip so casually from Potter’s lips. "Don’t get ahead of yourself, Potter. You’re not going anywhere for some time. Yes, you could experience cravings for red meat, headaches and light sensitivity, a sudden growth of excess body hair, and, potentially, other hormonal shifts and changes. Now, can you remember anything about the attack?"

"Last I remember, I was at work. Kingsley’d just given me a new assignment, and…" Potter’s eyes locked on Draco’s and grew wide. "Malfoy, your face. Was that...did I…?"

Draco’s fingers flew to his cheek in mild alarm. He relaxed at the feeling the slightly raised scratch marks there. "Oh, that. It’s no bother. I...had them before you arrived. Encountered a rogue Venomous Tentacula in the hospital herb cupboard, you see."

Potter smirked. "You’ve always been a godawful liar, Malfoy, but I appreciate the gesture."

An old flame of irritation flared in Draco’s gut. It served him right for trying to be nice. Briefly eschewing professionalism, he said, "Would you prefer to hear that you clawed at me like a crazed Grindylow as I tried to sedate you? Would that be better?"

The smirk didn’t leave Potter’s face, though he averted his eyes. "I see that bedside manner is clearly your specialty. No surprises there."

As Draco opened his mouth to retort, Potter continued loudly, "Let’s see. Payton and I—you know Payton, my partner—went to meet with the new tribe of werewolves who had settled just outside of London. I know things were going well…"

 _Not as well as you’d thought, apparently_ , thought Draco as Potter trailed off again, face contorting as he wracked his brain. "I see. One of our interns spoke to Auror Weasley. Would you like to know what he said?"

"‘Auror Weasley?’" Potter snorted, which led to a mild coughing fit that had Draco replenishing his cup of water twice over before they could continue. "Yes, please."

"According to _Auror Weasley_ , you were found just outside the walls of that werewolf settlement, mere moments after the attack. He believes that you were attacked by the alpha wolf, although packs with such strict hierarchy have not existed within the parameters of Wizarding society for years—"

"Alpha wolf?"

"Yes, the alpha. It’s exactly as it sounds. The alpha is generally the strongest in the pack, and the leader. He, or she, is also the most in tune with his wolfish characteristics—the link between him and the lycan is the strongest."

At this, the puzzle pieces in Potter’s mind fell together before Draco’s eyes. The look on his face was so perfectly _Potter_ that Draco had to physically bite his tongue to refrain from commentary. "Ah. Yes, I did speak with the leader of this pack. They were very peaceful, from what I saw. Committed to living as lycanthropes within their own community, and they'd even expressed desire to reintegrate into Wizarding society." He furrowed his brow. "I don’t know what changed. Do you think he was having me on?"

"It’s possible. We can try gathering your memories and accessing them in a Pensieve, with your consent," said Draco coolly. "Perhaps the Minister would prefer to do that, I’m not sure. You said you were with your partner, correct? We can gather his memories, too, and piece together—"

The door slammed open and Kingsley Shacklebolt strode in, gait purposeful and furious, followed by a worried Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, Ministry robes flowing behind them. 

"Harry," boomed Shacklebolt, breezing past Draco to hover awkwardly over Potter as he struggled to sit up on his forearms. "You’re alright. Thank Merlin."

"Do lie still, Potter," snapped Draco, eyes catching on the fresh spot of pink blooming on the bandage. 

Potter obeyed immediately, then offered a weak smile to his visitors. "I’m alright, thanks to Healer Malfoy."

"Good looks, Malfoy," said Weasley. Granger placed a warm hand upon Draco’s shoulder and murmured her gratitude. He offered them his signature tight-lipped smile, but they had already descended upon Potter like they were back in Hogwarts, fussing and gushing in a way that had Draco torn between rolling his eyes and clutching his chest with a rush of unfamiliar sentiment. He chose the former. 

"Yes, thank you, Healer Malfoy, I am eternally grateful. We all are." Shacklebolt shook Draco’s hand so vigorously he swore his teeth rattled. He lowered his voice, angling his body away from the bed. "And he’s...really going to be alright?"

Draco flicked his wand, displaying a small projection of Potter’s vital signs. "Yes, he’ll be alright. He seems to be recovering relatively quickly, but the side effects of such an injury can take some time to fully reveal themselves. I need to know more information about the wolf in question. I’d like to speak with his partner, Auror...Payton?"

Shacklebolt’s face turned grim and he led Draco even further from Potter’s bedside. "Unfortunately, that won’t be possible. Payton was...killed during the attack."

" _What?_ " Draco loathed the question the moment it left his lips, but he was unable to suppress his shock. "He’s dead? There haven’t been werewolf killings since…"

"The Second War." Shacklebolt sighed. "We don’t know what happened. We are still looking into it."

Draco’s mind reeled, stuck between thoughts like a wireless on the fritz. "Minister, if you wouldn’t mind, can you tell me a bit more about the nature of Potter’s mission?"

The suspicion with which Shacklebolt regarded Draco for the faintest of split seconds almost gave offense. He hastily added, "Any information of this sort will be key in the decisions I make with a course of treatment. The more I know about the circumstances of the attack, the quicker and better I can treat him." 

"Of course. I can tell you that Aurors Potter and Payton were on a diplomatic mission to a community of werewolves who have settled on the outskirts of London. They live freely, complete with monthly transformations which they do not frequently alter or suppress with Wolfsbane, though they have yet to pose a danger to society because they lock themselves in—they’ve built a walled village, you see, and they allow themselves to exist within these walls as they are. This particular group is an old tribe, one with an esoteric hierarchy and deep ties to other werewolf clans, and we believed it best to send two Aurors to speak with them about reintegration with Wizarding society, and assimilation based on conventions proposed in new legislation—"

Draco cringed visibly. Shacklebolt hastily continued, "—not that I’d ever phrase it as such to them, but you take my meaning. Auror Potter is quite gifted in matters of diplomacy, and the moon was in a benign state of its cycle, so…frankly, I am not sure why this happened."

"Ah. Weasley believes that Potter was bitten by the alpha wolf, or leader of the pack, whose display of wolfish tendencies does not always necessarily align with the lunar cycle." A loathsome prickle of gooseflesh broke out on Draco’s flesh at the thought of the only other alpha wolf that he had encountered in his life. The one who had started everything. "Alphas are also believed to be more prone to physical violence than other wolves, though many have worked to dispel that notion."

Shacklebolt glanced back at Potter, aghast. "I...I did not know. We didn’t realize what we were sending them into."

"There’s no way you could have known. The workings of these hierarchies are no longer common knowledge, and documentation on the matter is rare at best, especially when it comes to current affairs. He will be kept here in St. Mungo’s for the next few days, and I will monitor him closely. This information has been rather helpful, thank you, Minister." 

"You are more well-versed in these matters than I, or anyone, of course. Now, do you believe that he is well enough for me to try drawing some of his memories out for the Pensieve?"

Draco looked over. Potter was smiling crookedly at his friends. It wasn’t a weak smile, just bone-tired, and he laid with his head lolling to one side of the pillow. "You can try, just don’t press him. He couldn’t remember much when we were speaking earlier, so I don’t know how reliable his memories might be."

The Minister nodded, and proceeded to the bed. After about thirty minutes of a low murmured exchange, he tucked three phials of memories into his robes, shook Draco’s hand once more, and exited in a rapid whirlwind with Granger and Weasley in tow.

The moment the door closed behind them, Potter let out a pained gasp and slumped down.

Draco grabbed a dram of pain potion and whirled around. "Tell me where it hurts, and how it hurts."

"It’s like...ah...shooting fire down my arm." Potter grit his teeth, clutching helplessly at his wrist. "It’s starting in my shoulder, at the bite, and shooting down my bloody arm like a fucking firecracker. Bloody fucking hell, this is new."

"Here, drink this." Draco tipped the potion into Potter’s mouth. "I have a topical tincture in my stores that I’ve not had the opportunity to test in a real life application, would you be interested in that?"

Another pained gasp from Potter. "Yes, anything."

"As long as you remember it has yet to be—"

"Just get the fucking tincture, Malfoy."

Draco let out surprised laugh, and had to immediately resist the urge to clap his hand over his mouth. Potter's head jerked up, also surprised at the outburst. He smiled slightly, though it quickly returned to a grimace. A warm, squirmy feeling settled in Draco's stomach, like worms were wriggling just there, though it was not entirely unwelcome. It was hardly the first time he'd experienced this sensation around Potter, but it was certainly the least appropriate time. Horrified, Draco ignored it and rushed away to his cupboard.

******

Draco barely slept that night, tossing and turning as he drifted from dreams of teeth and wolves and wicked eyes and pain to those of piercing, eerie cackles and dreaded whispered orders to torture, to kill...he dreamt of running down an abstract hallway, chasing a faceless man with messy dark hair, and he could never catch him. No matter how fast he ran, no matter how deeply he yearned to reach out and touch…

He awoke covered in a cold sweat, heart pumping furiously as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. He had slept on the sofa in his laboratory again. The dim light of two candles burning on his desk illuminated the ocean of books strewn haphazardly about. With a groan, he pushed _Alpha and Omega: Natural Hierarchy Within Werewolf Genetics_ off of his thighs and stood, stretching with a groan. His wand pulsated red next to him; the Healer on duty must be rotating off shift. Draco had decided that he didn’t want other Healers to spend too much time with Potter in his delicate condition, not when he the expert in the subject matter, and that they should send a notification spell to his wand when their shifts were ending. If he’d had his way, he wouldn’t bother with taking breaks at all, but Healer Abbott had insisted that he take some time to recharge, maybe even go home and rest. 

Sod going home. He finally had something interesting to attend to.

"You’re back," said Potter, almost contentedly, as Draco strode into the room. 

"It appears that I am, considering that I am the current leading expert on werewolf-based healing practises and research. How are you feeling? Did you sleep at all?" Draco performed a quick diagnostic spell. 

"Not much, kept waking up. I sweat a lot. It’s hot as all hell in this building, you should really consider fixing that." Potter’s eyes followed Draco’s swishing wand amusedly. "Healers came in to re-up the blood and pain potions, but they said that you’d change the bandage."

"So I shall." Draco was only half-listening, focusing instead on the readout of Potter’s body temperature in his diagnostic. "Do you feel...feverish, at all?"

"Erm...not really, it’s just really bloody hot in here." Potter craned his neck. "Why, does it say I’ve got a fever?"

"It’s not 'really bloody hot' in here, it’s kept at a controlled, cool 19." Draco flicked his wand, expanding the projection. "Yes, you’ve apparently got quite the temperature. You should be feeling much sicker, per this readout." He angled the projection towards Potter.

He frowned. "Hmm. That’s weird." 

"Indeed. But, you won’t hear me complaining about your reduced suffering." Draco glanced ever so slightly to the side, and caught Potter’s gaze. He instantly regretted it. Despite his injury, despite everything, Potter’s eyes were magnetizing, mirth-filled pools of bright green. Draco wanted to dive in and drown himself there. Potter was clearly studying him, a development that was both irritating and flustering in equal measure. 

Draco forced himself to _not_ revert back to his childhood defense mechanisms by snappily asking Potter what the _hell_ he was staring at. Instead, he cleared his throat and said, "I can get you a draught for the fever. Now let’s have a look at that wound, shall we?"

"Alright." Potter sat up clumsily and presented his left shoulder. The thin bed sheet fell down and pooled at his waist, exposing his bare chest. Draco doubled down on his focus, certain to look directly at the bandage he was unwinding. Those eyes burned into him all the while, amused and inquisitive, and suddenly Draco realized that Potter had been correct: it _was_ really bloody hot in there. Just as he was controlling his desire to leap up and cast a powerful cooling charm on the entire bloody hospital, he caught a whiff of something that threatened to derail his concentration even further. It could only be described as scrumptious, like a potent Amortentia...which was highly out of place in his current setting. His eyelids fluttered; it was a warm, spicy scent. A bit musky, too. He was at once extremely aware of the blood in his veins, pumping in his heart, pulsing in his nether regions, and _Merlin_ , it had been ages since he’d been touched, hadn't it, ages since he’d allowed himself to focus on his baser urges rather than work, and oh, how he _craved_ —

"So, why werewolves?" asked Potter, the non sequitur offering Draco a brief reprieve from his disturbingly inappropriate, lustful internal monologue. 

Draco slid gloved fingers against Potter’s sweat-damp flesh as he reached the final layer of bandage. The heat from his fever seeped through the latex. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why did you decide to specialize in werewolves? Seems like an awfully...strange thing for a deep academic dive, especially for someone like you."

"‘Someone like me,’ hmm?" Draco might have been more aggressive than necessary as he yanked the remaining bandage out from under Potter’s arm, causing his patient to suck in a breath. "I thought the Saviour of the Wizarding World was above bringing up petty grudges."

Potter chuckled weakly. "You know I didn’t mean it like that. Alright, maybe I did. Seriously, you’re a pureblood, a _Malfoy_ , for Merlin’s sake, and after everything that happened...I guess I’m just wondering why werewolves, that’s all."

Draco looked at the newly revealed wound. To his delight, and subsequent confusion, he found that it was at a stage of healing that was far too advanced for a wound of its size and ferocity. 

Potter tilted his chin down. "Oh holy hell, that looks a lot better than I had thought it might. Looks like your homemade tincture did the trick."

A satisfied smirk slowly crept across Draco’s lips; he couldn’t help it. He knew he had created a quality topical Wolfsbane and dittany concoction, but to see it in action was something else entirely. "It does seem to be healing much more rapidly than anticipated. Your magic must have really taken to the spells and potions. How does it feel? More acute shooting pain in your arm?"

"No, not really. The actual bite still hurts, but it’s more like an...ache. A throb, maybe."

Merlin’s bollocks. Draco decided definitively that Potter should never say the word ‘throb’ ever again. And he really would have to do something about this heat; it was becoming unbearable. He fished the tincture from his robes. "That is good news, but atypical. It usually takes at least an entire 24 hour cycle for the pain to change and subside like that."

"I _have_ always been a fast healer." Potter caught Draco’s eye again. "And with your deft hands and potions skills, I’ll be out of here in no time."

Draco fingers halted just as he was dipping them into the ointment. "Did you just...compliment me?"

"Ha, I suppose I did. But I don’t think it’s the first time, is it?" Potter stared at Draco as he gently rubbed the ointment into the wound. He let out a sharp gasp. 

"Sorry, did that hurt?" Draco kept his own gaze fixed firmly on his work as he fought to ignore the warm snakes that had returned to his gut, curling up like they belonged there. 

"Just a bit of a sting." Potter shifted slightly. "So, come on. Why werewolves?"

"Oh. Well, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you, although you have just outed yourself as never having read any of my academic writing, as I do address it extensively in my papers." Draco smirked at Potter’s sheepish half-smile. "When I was sixteen years old, I suffered the bite of a werewolf myself. I was lucky—the wolf wasn’t fully transformed, but he was…" 

A lump formed suddenly in his throat. Speaking about it aloud was still difficult. "From that point forward, I’ve taken a special interest in any and all potions and healing practises related to werewolf bites, managing werewolf symptoms and wolfish characteristics, even in cases where the afflicted person doesn’t transform."

Potter was silent for a long moment, during which Draco concentrated on quelling the internal crisis of immediate regret in confiding in Potter as he redressed the wound. 

"I...I had no idea," said Potter finally, his voice soft. His free hand balled into a loose fist then relaxed, almost as though he were restraining himself from reaching out and touching Draco.

Making the decision easier for the both of them, Draco moved across the room and peeled off his gloves. His hands were dripping sweat. "It was a long time ago. Another lifetime, almost." 

"It was Greyback, wasn’t it." Potter’s eyes brimmed with something unrecognizable that Draco did not care to examine. 

"Yes. It was. Much like the wolf who attacked you, Greyback was an alpha."

"Oh." 

A heavy silence fell between them as Draco cleaned his station, preparing to exit the room to allow Potter some time to rest, when Potter spoke again.

"So, when you say that a person might not transform all the way, do you mean...it’s possible to get bitten and not actually ever become a wolf?" Potter’s voice was measured, like he was slowly drizzling this new information over his brain. 

"Yes. It’s rather common, in fact." 

"Is that...is that what happened to you?"

Draco pressed his lips together. "Yes." 

"So...you don’t need to take Wolfsbane, then?"

"Well, not Wolfsbane as you might know it, traditionally. I take a hormonal suppressant everyday, and an alternative potion every month to stay my secondary wolf characteristics. It’s...actually the potion that put me on the map in the healing world, and what made me decide to become a Healer in the first place." 

Another long, pregnant pause from Potter. "Do you think this will happen to me, then, too? Since the wolf wasn’t transformed?"

Draco summoned a quill and pad from the nearest drawer. "Oh, are you remembering more of the attack?"

"I think so, yeah...it’s coming in blurry bits and pieces." Potter frowned. "Although it would be easier if Payton were here to help me piece things together. I assume he got off a bit easier than I did, since he’s not here, is he?"

All that time spent coaxing memories from Potter’s addled mind and Shacklebolt hadn’t told him that his partner was dead. _Fantastic._ Draco exhaled softly. "I think you should ask the Minister about that when he inevitably returns."

"Why can’t you just tell me now?" The intensity on Potter's face betrayed his too-cheery tone.

With another sigh, Draco summoned a chair and sat next to Potter’s bed. This was hardly the worst thing he’d ever had to tell a patient, but, for some reason, there was something crushingly unbearable about Draco being the one to break this to Potter. "I doubt it’s my place to tell you this, but Payton is...he didn’t survive the attack. I’m sorry."

Potter’s jaw jutted out as he clenched his teeth. "I see." 

"I am sorry." Draco stood slowly from his chair. "I’ll...give you some time."

Potter drew a breath, as though to speak, but before he could get out a word, Draco was gone.

*******

Draco had originally intended to keep Potter in the hospital for at least five days while he recovered, though it became apparent with each passing day that Potter was healing beautifully and exhibiting little to no wolfish side effects. This had Draco more perplexed than pleased. Nothing in his years of experience as a Healer nor in his volumes upon volumes of literature and research on the subject suggested that this was normal, so he kept a fairly critical eye on his patient.

Even though that patient made every effort to drive Draco away with insipid pleasantries and never ending questions. 

"What’s your favorite kind of tea?" asked Potter as Draco swished his wand over his bite, murmuring what he wagered would be the final _Vulnera Sanentur_ incantations.

He did not acknowledge the question until the third utterance of the spell, pausing to admire the way the once-deep gash had knit itself together. The actual outline of the wolf’s teeth were still present, as those could not be healed by any known magic ( _yet_ ). "You’re asking me this why?" 

Potter shrugged, genial as ever, as though he were not still recovering from a traumatic ordeal. "I’m curious. Hermione brought me some thistle tea from the Muggle shop down the way. I’d never had it before, and it made me wonder what other sorts of tea I’m missing out on."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Thistle? Sounds ghastly."

"Well, what do you prefer, then?"

"Earl grey, of course." 

"Of course." Potter chuckled. The sound moved through Draco, warming him. It did _not_ help that the musky Amortentia scent had yet to abate, and the room seemed to get hotter with each passing day. 

"If you’ve quite finished with this topic, can I ask: you’re really not feeling anything...different? Any irregular hunger, odd cravings, more pain..?" Draco pressed a small bandage to the wound and brushed a stray white-blond lock off his forehead. 

Disconcertingly, Potter’s eyes followed his finger. He shook his head, as though coming out of a haze. "Erm, no. I’m just tired. So, so bloody tired. And still a bit warm. But other than that, I feel alright, actually. The pain has subsided, like you said—I think you’ve got something quite special with that tincture, Malfoy. Why, what am I supposed to be feeling?"

"Well, it’s good that you’re healing well so far, but I am concerned by how long the side effects are taking to surface. But I cannot keep you here without cause, and since no secondary wolfish characteristics have revealed themselves, we will release you from the hospital tomorrow."

"Brilliant. Thanks, Malfoy." Potter flashed a bit of teeth at Draco with his lopsided grin, and it was all Draco could do to keep himself standing upright. 

He really needed to get out more.

******

Early in the morning of Potter’s discharge, Draco prepared a myriad of special potions to which Potter had responded favorably throughout his stay and duplicated them until he could fit no more in the traveling pouch. He was sure to make detailed notes of everything he was giving Potter in the documentation of his case, as all that had transpired in the past few days would undoubtedly prove useful in his next academic adventure, before shrinking everything and descending to Potter’s suite.

The moment Draco entered the room, he knew something was wrong. Potter was up, and milling about, hands twisting together, teeth grinding audibly. It was burning hot, like a sauna, and the air was thick with that intoxicating spicy scent, an agitated energy, and something that escaped Draco’s linguistic capabilities entirely. 

"How are you feeling today?" asked Draco carefully, setting the pouch on the counter and pulling on his gloves. 

Potter’s head snapped towards him, and Draco almost gasped at the ferocity in his eyes. "I’m feeling...I don’t know. I’m feeling very strange today, Malfoy."

"Alright. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on." Attempting to ignore the urgency swelling in his chest and raising his heart rate, Draco gestured to the bed. Potter took a reluctant seat, breathing hard.

"I think the fever is back. Christ, I’m burning up." He ran trembling hands through his unruly mop of black hair. "I've never felt anything like this. And I’m...I’m smelling everything a bit stronger than usual. A lot stronger than usual, actually. I can smell _everything_ , and it’s driving me mad. Is that normal?"

A weighty dread settled in Draco’s gut as he cautiously approached Potter. "Yes, heightened sensitivity to scent is fairly common. Now, I’m going to lay two fingers to your wrist to take your pulse. Will you let me do that?"

"Yes." Potter’s nostrils flared as Draco drew nearer. A bizarre, feverish warmth was radiating from his flesh and flowing into Draco through his gloved fingertips, igniting a fire within him that nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. Potter’s magic was strong enough that it had overpowered his suppressants, and allowed him to come into what Draco now recognized the beginning of his rut. In turn, Draco’s own long-suppressed biological urge was awakening at the scent of an alpha so near, something that he had never imagined happening, not in his wildest dreams. It would not do to give into this now, not after so many years of careful work and daily suppressants. And in his place of work, in _St. Bloody Mungo’s_ , of all things…

...and with _Harry sodding Potter_ , no less.

Potter jerked forward so quickly that Draco gasped and dropped his wrist. "I think I can...Merlin. Fuck."

"What? What is it?" Draco did not care for the strain in his own voice.

Leaning back onto his pillow, Potter looked at the spot directly over Draco’s shoulder as he said quietly, "I...I think I can smell _you_. Is that normal?"

"You can smell... _me?_ " 

Potter inhaled deeply; Draco couldn’t help but notice how his fingers tensed, knuckles whitening in the bedsheets. "I think so, yes. It’s...Merlin, I’m sorry, this is all too weird for me to comprehend, but you smell...it’s like…" He licked his lips. "I don’t want to say."

"You can say whatever you need to say Potter. I’m your Healer." Draco’s heart thundered in his chest.

Potter closed his eyes. A long inhale followed by a deep, shuddering exhale that Draco matched with his own breath. He swallowed audibly, summoning his quill and putting a bit more distance between himself and Potter’s bed. 

"It’s a...it’s a strong smell, very distinct. Very...sweet," said Potter, opening his eyes. His pupils nearly eclipsed his irises as he shifted restlessly between his sheets. "I know it’s you. I don’t know how, but I can tell it’s you. I want to...it makes me...I’m sorry, I can’t explain this. My heart...God, Draco, I feel like I might faint. I...I don’t know what’s happening."

Potter’s explanation had Draco frozen in place, every tick of the clock on the wall booming in his ears as the blood rushed to his cheeks and, to his horror, between his legs. His rational mind kicked in, albeit a faint voice in comparison to the animalistic urge that was overwhelming him, like a tidal wave. 

He swallowed audibly. "Do you also feel...aroused?"

Potter sat up again, eyes manic, a visible sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Yes, holy hell, yes—it’s getting more intense by the second."

"Oh, hell." Draco felt his facade breaking. "I believe you’re experiencing a heat. Er, a rut. For you, it's a rut. The wolf that bit you must have been very powerful."

Potter stood up on his knees, clad in naught more than the fresh bandage on his shoulder and paper-thin St. Mungo’s pyjamas, which left little to the imagination. "Tell me about a rut."

"Alright, I’ll tell you." That strong, spicy Amortentia scent was filling up the room, surrounding Draco, penetrating him, pulsating deep within his veins as he backed slowly towards the door. He knew that he should call for another Healer, that he could reach into his robes and summon someone right now with his wand. Yet he did not. "A rut is a state of arousal fueled by the biological need to reproduce. Essentially, your brain is distilled to its basest, most primal urges"

"Do you experience ruts, too?" Potter leapt off the bed and prowled towards Draco. "Are you an alpha, too?"

"I don’t…" Draco exhaled loudly through his nose. "I exhibit o-omega characteristics. They are...they are the counterpart to the alpha, and extremely rare. Especially nowadays."

"You’re my counterpart? Fucking hell. Why didn’t you tell me?" Potter moved ever closer, pressing the heel of his hand into the growing bulge in his pyjamas. "Merlin, do you have a rut? Is that why you smell like the most incredible, mouth-watering dessert that I just want to devour?"

"N-not a rut. A heat." Draco bit his lip, suddenly so hard he wanted to _cry_. He had experienced a heat only once, just after he was bitten. He’d been little more than sixteen, and it had been one of the top two most hellish experiences in his life, interchangeable with a Cruciatus Curse. He could almost taste the sickly humidity of his childhood bedroom where he’d sweated out his heat for a ghastly four days, sheets soaked with his own slick, overcome with the need to be filled, begging for someone, anyone, anything to relieve him of the pain of being so wet and so empty, so lonely. He’d been all alone, save his mother, as his father was in Azkaban, and Merlin, had she been terrified. Terrified and ashamed and at an utter loss as to what needed to be done. He'd survived, of course, but the thought of being in a similar state again had been enough to drive him to create potions specifically dedicated to prevent such a thing. Not that he'd ever imagined coming in contact with an alpha in a rut, ever, in his life, yet _hell_ , here he was, and here _Potter_ was...

He was unaware that he’d said all of this aloud until Potter murmured, "Poor little Malfoy, all alone and in heat. If only someone had been there to take care of you. Fuck, I bet you smelled just as delicious as you do now…"

_"Potter."_

Draco didn’t know whose breaths he was hearing, Potter’s or his own, but in a split second, the sensible inclination to open the door and call for another Healer flew out of his head, extinguished by something warm and wet soaking his pants. 

"Potter, I—we—" Draco struggled to remember any reason why Potter shouldn’t act on his wolfish urges and fuck him senseless. He thought fleetingly of the muzzle in his room, the suppressants that were failing him. 

"Holy hell, Malfoy, I’ll go mad...Draco, I…" Time stopped as Potter bracketed Draco’s face with his arms and slowly rolled his hips forward, grinding their arousals together. 

"We can’t...I can’t…" tried Draco, but he was panting, letting out little whimpers as Potter rutted against him, each rub causing his toes to curl and more slick to drip down his thighs as the desire to submit intensified. "Oh, Merlin. I _work_ here."

Potter’s hot breath ghosted across Draco’s neck as he mouthed at the skin there, and Draco was on _fire_ , both as serene and as frustrated as he had ever been in his life—it felt so right, yet he needed more, more, more…

"Someone will come in," gasped Draco as Potter yanked his robes open with greedy hands. "Someone will see. It’s not right, you’re my patient, ah! I’ll be...I’ll be sacked."

"The hell you will." Potter pulled back. There was an aura about him, a warm, golden glow that emanated pure power. He murmured what Draco knew to be a powerful Silencing Charm, and magic rippled through the room. With a pleased grin, Potter pressed his hand firmly against the door and closed his eyes, whispering another incantation that had the lock rattling shut. 

Stunned enough to briefly come out of his omega fog, Draco gaped at him. "I-impossible. St. Mungo’s is unenchantable. No wizard, not even a powerful one, should be able to—"

"But I’m different, aren’t I?" Potter’s focus was zeroed in on Draco once more, and it was nearly enough to make his knees buckle. "I’m the most powerful wizard alive, Draco Malfoy, and I will bring this entire establishment to ruin if you don’t let me fuck you right now."

"I can’t," whispered Draco, willing himself to push Potter away in one more desperate, futile attempt in the interest of self-preservation. "I’m your Healer."

"Yes, you are," breathed Potter, lips hovering over Draco’s. "So fucking heal me."

" _Oh._ " Something ached deep in Draco’s chest as those words; it had been long, so very long. He let go, allowing his omega instincts to take the wheel.

Green eyes glowing with a preternatural power and lust, devoid of any shred of reason, Potter pushed Draco’s robes to the floor and tore open his shirt, sending buttons skittering across the floor. Blood rushed to Draco's head as he watched Potter’s large, tanned hands splay across his pale chest and caress down to his quivering stomach. "Your body, bloody hell, Malfoy, look at you."

Potter dragged his hands appreciatively down Draco’s body, stroking his sides, cupping the bulge in his trousers. Draco nearly passed out at the sight of _Harry fucking Potter_ sinking to his knees, glancing heatedly up at him before pressing his nose to Draco’s crotch and inhaling deeply. 

"Christ. You smell even more amazing here."

"P-Potter," moaned Draco, every cell in his body a lit flame, beads of sweat sliding down his back. "I’m...I need you."

Nearly vibrating with enthusiasm, Potter hurriedly divested him of his sopping trousers and pants. He sucked in a breath as Potter surged forward and licked a long, wide stripe up his inner thighs, moaning as he lapped at the slick, licking higher until—

"Potter!" Draco slammed the back of his head against the door as Potter sucked him into his mouth, so perfect and hot and wet and yes, yes, _yes_...

With an obscene slurp, Potter pulled off. Dazed, Draco allowed himself to be spun around, gloved palms pressed against the door, back arched, arse on display. Potter groaned something unintelligible as he nuzzled the swell of Draco’s arse, and before Draco could make sense of what was happening, Potter spread him wide and stuck his face in. 

" _Oh._ Oh, hell," gasped Draco, struggling to remember how to breathe as Potter traced his arsehole gorgeously, coaxing him open. In a clear attempt to drive Draco mad, Potter pointed his tongue and slowly but forcefully pushed it inside—just the tip, in and out, in and out. Draco’s legs shook as he gushed slick, and when Potter’s hand wrapped around his aching prick as he continued his sinful ministrations, sucking and probing ever deeper with that talented tongue, Draco’s vision whited out and he came hard with a shout, spattering the hospital door with come and soaking the floor in slick.

"That was so fucking hot," rumbled Potter against his ear, his wet beard scratching against Draco's burning flesh. "I want to make you come again." 

Draco allowed possessive hands to grip his waist and maneuver him back to the bed. Potter yanked off his shirt and took a moment to devour Draco with his gaze. Breathing hard, Draco watched as Potter grabbed his wrist, bringing one gloved hand to his face. He pinched the first two fingers in his teeth, slowly sliding the latex off to reveal Draco’s far too sweaty hand. He tried to pull away, but Potter tightened his grasp and sucked three of Draco’s fingers into his mouth. Draco's lips parted as he moaned around them, his spent cock stirring back to life. Potter repeated the movement on the other hand, this time taking one finger at a time into his mouth, eyes locked on Draco’s face as Draco stared, mind going numb as his long fingers slid between Potter’s reddened lips. 

"Fuck me," whined Draco. "Potter, please, I need you."

With a growl that did nothing to ease his aroused state, Potter lunged at him. In an instant, he was on his back, dribbling slick on the unmade hospital sheets as his hips rutted shamelessly upwards. Potter crawled on top of him, caging him with his body, eyes predatory and wonderful. 

"I’m going to make you mine, Draco Malfoy," he murmured, the tone in his voice sending shivers up Draco’s spine. A sudden softness appeared in his eyes as he trailed his hands almost reverently over Draco’s trembling body, but as soon as it had appeared, it was gone, and Draco was keening as Potter spread his legs wide.

Draco bit his lip as Potter slid two fingers through the sloppy mess between his thighs, rubbing and teasing at his wet hole until he cried out for more. The first finger inside him was hot like fire, and nowhere near enough. The second was a lovely stretch, but Draco wanted, he _needed_ something bigger, and he told Potter as much as he writhed and bucked, limbs flailing as he held onto the metal headboard of the tiny bed. 

"You want my cock, baby?" Potter’s grip was tight on the meat of Draco’s thigh as he held him open, raking his eyes over him like a prize he had won, fat cock shiny with saliva and slick.

"Yes, yes, please, I want your cock, give me your cock," begged Draco, gripping impatiently at Potter’s arms, his torso, desperate for connection. "Fuck me, please."

"You're such a good omega for me, Draco, so fucking perfect." Draco blushed blood-hot at the praise, and his heart stuttered in his chest as Potter leaned forward to kiss him deeply at the exact moment that he pushed inside of him.

Draco had never felt anything like this in his life, and struggled to find the words to describe it: he was enveloped in Harry Potter, from the feeling of his muscular body pressed as closely to Draco as possible, to the delicious scent of his rut and sweat, to the plush lips that barely left his, grunting and panting into his mouth as he thrust deep inside, thick cock stretching him like no man had before, he was utterly possessed by Harry, Harry, _Harry_...

"Draco," breathed Potter—Harry—staring into his eyes. "You feel so good, you feel so fucking good, Merlin, I…"

" _Harry!_ " Hot tears pricked Draco's eyes as that sweet spot deep inside of him lit up, pleasure coiling in his gut. Lost in sensation, he threw his arms around Harry’s neck and pulled him close, letting out shameless moans and wails as Harry fucked him like he’d been fucking him all his life, angling his hips just so, smearing sloppy kisses and love bites across his neck, his jaw, until lips found his ear and Harry whispered, "You’re wonderful, Draco, fuck, you’re so good for me, you feel like fucking heaven, perfect omega, I want you to come, Draco, I want you, oh, fuck, I _love_ you, Draco…"

With that, something warm and beautiful unspooled rapidly in Draco’s chest and stomach, and he tossed his head back and let out a feral cry as tears flowed from his eyes and he gushed his release between their heaving chests. He clawed at Harry’s back, faintly aware of the filthy praise as Harry buried his face in Draco’s neck, inhaling deeply as he sped up the pace of his hips. 

"Gonna come." Harry let out a shuddering breath that turned into a deep growl. "Fuck, gonna come inside you."

"Yes," gasped Draco, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist as tears continued to roll down his cheeks. _"Yes."_

Harry pulled Draco’s hair to expose his neck, and sank his teeth into the sensitive flesh there, biting so hard that Draco let out a scream that was neither pure agony nor pure ecstasy, but some exquisite hybrid of the two. His entire mind melted as Harry’s cock swelled to the point that he thought he might tear apart, though he doubted, deliriously, that he’d mind. He stilled, and Draco felt himself flutter around the thick intrusion as he was filled with hot come, so thick and copious that he felt some of it drip out of his hole and leak onto the sheets. 

After several long moments of lying there in silence--Harry breathing, Draco whimpering--Harry smoothed the matted hair from Draco’s forehead and stared, bewildered, into his eyes. "Damn," he said in a breathless chuckle. "That was...damn."

"I...see your eloquence persists in the bedroom." Draco’s lips quirked in a tremulous smile, and he let Harry kiss him, slow and deep and _feeling_ , and with a fair amount of tongue, for what seemed simultaneously like forever and not that long at all.

With a groan, Harry tried to pull out. 

"Don’t!" Draco wrapped his legs tighter around Harry’s waist. "You’ve, erm. You’ve knotted me, which means you have to stay inside until the knot goes down."

Harry dropped onto his elbows and raised an incredulous eyebrow. "I’ve done what, now?"

Heat rushed to Draco’s face—considering what they’d just done, and that Harry was still inside of him, getting embarrassed by this seemed as sensible as getting embarrassed about giving a well-prepared presentation in History of Magic. "It’s a phenomenon that occurs when an alpha, ah, comes. His prick swells so he can stay inside his mate longer and, theoretically, increase the possibility of having children."

"So we’re _stuck_ like this?" Harry’s eyes were saucers. "For how long?"

"Not long, I imagine, though I can't say for certain. Probably twenty minutes or so."

"Merlin’s bollocks."

"Indeed."

"And…" Harry chewed his lower lip. "Children? Can I...can you..?"

"Er, technically, I think we can, but I’m not certain...not to worry, I’ve been on suppressants, so that should work in our favor."

"Good." Another wide-eyed look. "Not that it would be bad, or that I’d necessarily mind, but…"

Draco scoffed, though his blush deepened. "Slow down, Potter."

"What happened to ‘Harry?’"

"I dunno. Something about the way it feels rolling off my tongue...doesn’t quite feel natural. Know what I mean?’

Harry laughed and kissed Draco’s cheek. "I can think of some better ways for you to use your tongue, anyway."

A flood of warmth pooled in Draco’s belly. "Best to be careful with what you say, our refractory periods are all but nonexistent at this point. I’ll be ready for another go any minute now."

" _Really._ "

"Yes." Draco’s eye caught a flicker of something red, and twisted his body slightly to get a better look. His wand, discarded in his pile of clothing, was flashing frantically. "Oh, fuck me."

"I can do that." Harry rolled his hips experimentally. "With pleasure."

Draco bit his lip and clutched at Harry’s uninjured shoulder. "Oh, _yes_. But no—I...this was...I don’t know how I’m going to explain any of this to anyone, especially not St. Mungo’s…" A cold weight of trepidation threatened to douse his growing arousal. "I’m finished."

"Like I said before, the hell you are. I’ve learned a thing or two in my time, and trust me, no one saw or heard a thing."

"Doubtful, but even if that is true, by some miracle, they will still notice when I haven’t surfaced in hours or days or however long, and that you are still checked in, idiot." Draco covered his face with his hands, mortified. How could he have let this happen?

Harry just brushed a lock of white-blond hair behind Draco’s ear and flashed him a dazzling smile. "Draco. I’m the Saviour of the sodding Wizarding World. You’re Draco sodding Malfoy. We’ve got this."

"I...don’t think I feel as confidently as you do."

"You will."

They laid there for a few more moments before Draco inhaled sharply and asked the question that he wanted to ask the most. "Potter—Harry—you said some things while we were...well, _during_ , and I’m just wondering, were any of them true?"

Harry ran a thumb over Draco's clammy cheekbone, the look on his face so vulnerable that Draco almost teared up again. "Yes."

Overcome, Draco looked away. Harry turned his face, forcing their gazes to meet. "Yes," he repeated, the sincerity in his voice unable to be replicated, not even with veritaserum. "It was all true, Draco. I...I do love you."

"You _do_? How...when?"

Harry shrugged, an endearingly lopsided smile on his face. "I just do. Been trying to get you to go out with me for ages, but...I didn’t think you were interested."

"Getting bitten by a werewolf is one way to go about it," said Draco, unable to suppress an answering smirk, though his heart was soaring. 

"It was all a plot to get you to shag me. My true motivations have been discovered. 

"I bloody knew it." Draco pulled his lover down for a kiss. "And it’s a good thing you meant what you said, because you’ve also managed to mate me."

There they were--the widest eyes of the day. " _What?_ Is that different from knotting?"

"Yeah." Draco craned his neck to reveal the throbbing bite mark. "When you bit my neck, we became bonded. It’s kind of like...well, I'm loath to put it like this, but...werewolf marriage."

"Holy Merlin on the shitter." 

"It’s not like we have to get married now," said Draco, a bit too quickly. "It’s just...one of those werewolf things."

"Right. Well...I don’t mind, if you don’t." Harry shook his head, chuckling. "This is all...mad, honestly. I can’t make heads or tails of it. I thought you were giving me medicine to keep things like this—like the heat, and the ‘wolfish characteristics’—from happening."

"I was. I did. And it should have bloody worked, I just…" Draco shook his head, at a loss. "Sometimes, the strength of a wizard’s magic can overrule potions and charms. You know that more than anyone."

"I do." Harry kissed Draco again, and Draco kissed back, hoping to convey all the things he wasn't quite ready to say yet with his lips. When they broke apart, Harry continued, "I don’t think it was just my magic, though. I think when you and I collided, with all of our magic, and then, of course, all of the wolf characteristics, it was just—"

"Please, don’t say ‘it was meant to be.’"

"—meant to be. Yeah, I said it. I think...I think this was meant to be."

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes, but something long-repressed and warm, full of promise and comfort bloomed deep within his chest, something that told Draco that even if he had to make a sudden career change, even if he had a whole lot of explaining to do to a whole lot of people, even if he and Harry found themselves at odds, or facing some seemingly insurmountable challenge, that this was the way that it was supposed to be. Their lives had been so intertwined, their interests so entangled for so long that it was beyond deniability: He and Harry Potter were very much meant to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment below. ♥
> 
> This work is part of HD Erised, an on-going anonymous fest. The creator will be revealed January 7th.


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